


From the Wisdom of Bards

by rallamajoop



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Crack, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-10
Updated: 2021-01-10
Packaged: 2021-03-12 02:06:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28627740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rallamajoop/pseuds/rallamajoop
Summary: Geralt rubbed his temples. "When I told you about those dreams, I was hoping they might be some sort of metaphor.""No, Geralt," said Dandelion, seriously, "if you'd dreamt about Regis drinking your blood,thatwould be a metaphor. Not a very subtle one, or one I think Regis would much appreciate, but a metaphor nonetheless. But you don't need any special literary skill to interpretthesesorts of dreams.""Thank you, Dandelion," said Geralt. "You've been no help whatsoever.""You're entirely welcome," the bard replied, unperturbed. He drummed his fingers on his lute thoughtfully. "Can you think of a good rhyme for 'denial'?"Geralt was on the verge of reminding him about his promise regarding ballads before he spotted the trap and thought better of it.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Emiel Regis Rohellec Terzieff-Godefroy
Comments: 21
Kudos: 130
Collections: Regis Rocks





	From the Wisdom of Bards

**Author's Note:**

> Could be taken as a follow up to my last Witcher fic [A Decent Proposition](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28262526), but could just as easily be taken its own little thing. It's certainly a lot crackier than Decent Proposition (though perhaps not _that_ much more ridiculous than some of the best parts of the novels), though both should be easy enough to follow whether you've actually read the novels or not.

Eventually, against his better judgement, he went to Dandelion for help. Having sworn the bard to secrecy with the specific promise that _not one word_ would ever make it into any of his ballads, Geralt at last, haltingly, explained the issue.

When he'd finished, Dandelion looked at him in disbelief. "Well, what's the problem? Just go to bed with him, if it's bothering you so much. What's stopping you?" 

"To begin with," said Geralt, already regretting everything, "he's a man." 

"So? A little unconventional, I'll grant you—not your usual type—but obviously that hasn't put you off or we wouldn't be having this conversation. If it's just a matter of curiosity then the sooner you've got it out of your system, the better." 

"Dandelion," Geralt said, feeling some wires had gotten crossed somewhere, "I have never slept with a man." 

His friend patted him on the shoulder. "I'm sure he'll be understanding about that. Besides, it's really not all that different. You'll pick it up in no time." 

"How would _you_ know?" Geralt scoffed. "You've never..." he trailed off, suddenly uncertain. 

Dandelion gave him a long, serious look. "Never have I had a problem quite like yours, no. But you should understand, Geralt, that I am a man of the world—and occasionally a man of the world will find himself, let's say, facing a husband who has come home unexpectedly to find you at the beginnings of a tryst with his wife, and in short order it becomes apparent this husband has found it in his heart to assume his wife has brought home a surprise plaything for them _both_ to share, as she is apparently wont to do. And rather than correct this misapprehension, you realise that _everyone_ involved will have a much more enjoyable evening if you play along." 

"Melitele's _tits_ , Dandelion," said Geralt. "You're _joking_." But it was too late: no sooner had he digested the scenario than he knew that this had absolutelyhappened to Dandelion. Probably more than once. 

Dandelion waved a hand. "As I said, it's not at all unpleasant if one is prepared to go into the experience with an open mind. At least for an evening. Or as long as it takes the count and countess to get bored." Realising he'd gotten side-tracked, he shook himself. "Really, Geralt, what do you want me to tell you? _'Obviously he's just got you so confused with all that erudite conversation and smugly self-satisfied wit that you've forgotten he doesn't have a bosom'_? It isn't my fault you're having to broaden your horizons." 

"Fine," said Geralt. "But, look, not everyone is that open-minded. _Regis_ may not be." 

Dandelion looked at him as if he'd grown another head. "What are you on about now? He's a vampire! They're infamous for it! More so the females of the species, I'll grant you—their appetite for impressionable young virgins has been _well_ -storied. But my good friend and colleague Little Eye—you'd remember her—used to have several quite explicit ballads on the tastes of _male_ vampires. Not her own work, I believe they came mostly from the pen of the famous Anne of Rice—wildly melodramatic stuff, though not without its appeal. Of course, I doubt you'd have heard them, Little Eye found it prudent to play the more explicit versions only where she could be sure of a receptive audience..." 

"Dandelion," said Geralt through gritted teeth, " _none of that is true._ " 

"None of it? Are you sure? There's bound to have been some exaggeration for artistic purposes, but I'd be surprised if there weren't some truth at the heart of it. You know Regis—he'd have been sure to let us all know if it wasn't." 

"Not," said Geralt, "if it never occurred to him anyone would seriously believe all that nonsense." 

Dandelion sighed. "Oh, come on, Geralt, what's the worst that can happen? He turns you down? You're a grown man, you can handle it. Though between you and me, I don't think it likely." 

Geralt rubbed his temples. "When I told you about those dreams, I was hoping they might be some sort of metaphor." 

"No, Geralt," said Dandelion, seriously, "if you'd dreamt about Regis drinking your blood, _that_ would be a metaphor. Not a very subtle one, or one I think Regis would much appreciate, but a metaphor nonetheless. But you don't need any special literary skill to interpret _these_ sorts of dreams." 

"Thank you, Dandelion," said Geralt. "You've been no help whatsoever." 

"You're entirely welcome," the bard replied, unperturbed. He drummed his fingers on his lute thoughtfully. "Can you think of a good rhyme for 'denial'?" 

Geralt was on the verge of reminding him about his promise regarding ballads before he spotted the trap and thought better of it. 

* * *

In a better world, that would have been the end of it. In this one, Angouleme approached him later that very same day. 

"Heard you and the bard talking earlier," she began, with not a trace of remorse for eavesdropping. 

Geralt did not put his face in his hands, but the impulse took some work to resist. 

"Is that why you didn't want me?" Angouleme went on. "Because you prefer other men? You might've said so, I wouldn't have judged. Heard plenty worse in my time." 

"Come on, Angouleme," said Geralt, "you know about Yennefer." Someone, surely, must have mentioned Yennefer to her. _Surely_. 

Angouleme shrugged. "The bard mentioned her, yeah, but I figured maybe he invented her, you know, to make you seem more manly in those ditties of his." 

Geralt took a breath and chose his words carefully. "Listen. I like women fine. But I prefer women who offer out of desire, not the obligations of gratitude. I have nothing but contempt for the sort of man who'd save a woman solely in expectation of being rewarded so." 

Angouleme opened her mouth to make some retort, but Geralt held up a hand to silence her. "And," he went on, "you, specifically, bear a slight resemblance to Ciri. Who I think of as my daughter." 

Angouleme waited a moment, expectant. "And?" 

"And what?" 

"Does that really put you off? Plenty men out there wouldn't be. Some even..." 

"No," said Geralt. "Please never ask me that again." 

* * *

That certainly should have been the end of it. But some part of Geralt still clung to the possibility that something else was at work. So he approached Cahir. 

The odds the Nilfgaardian had any special wisdom to contribute on the subject were surely nil, and Geralt had no more desire to confide in him. But Cahir had apparently shared every dream Geralt had had regarding Ciri, and those they both knew the meaning of. Which is why Geralt pulled him aside and asked, haltingly, with as little detail as possible, whether he'd had any similar dreams featuring Regis. 

Cahir gave him a long, hard look, and went away to do something else. 

Geralt took that as a fairly definitive answer. 

* * *

The very final straw, however, was Milva, who should not by any stretch of the imagination have become involved. Still, somehow Geralt found himself being pulled aside by their archer later that day. 

"Is something up with the vampire?" she asked him, point blank. 

"What," said Geralt. 

"You've been looking at him funny. You changed your mind again about whether he's dangerous? If you're going to try and get rid of him again, you'll need to convince the others first. Starting with me, since we're talking." 

"No," said Geralt, carefully. "It's nothing like that." 

"So what's with all the furtive glances? He's not stupid—he's going to notice." 

And that was the crux of it—Milva was right. If she'd noticed him acting strange, then Regis had definitely noticed. And that was assuming that Dandelion or Angouleme hadn't already taken it upon themselves to tell the vampire about their own conversations with Geralt, promises be damned. The window in which this could be handled with any sort of grace was rapidly closing. 

"It's a personal matter," he told Milva. "I'll speak to him about it when next we stop." 

Milva 'hm'ed at him, but let the matter drop. 

* * *

Geralt, as Dandelion would have gladly told you, was no coward when it came to carrying out his profession. Strigas, werewolves, draconids of all varieties—even mobs of angry peasants or powerfully dissatisfied customers—he'd faced them all without trembling, and surely would again. Matters of the heart, however (as Dandelion would _also_ have gladly told you) were a different beast. There, the coward's route of a hasty exit in the dead of the night was often preferable to the awkwardness of having to have the I-think-we-should-break-this-off conversation after weeks of fading intimacy. If he was feeling particularly brave, he might leave so much as a note. And that was for lesser dalliances—Dandelion could also attest to times when veritable months of sulking had apparently been more acceptable to Geralt than the necessity of a single, frank conversation with Yennefer. There were some battles even witcher training couldn't prepare one for. 

This is all to say that it was no small act of courage for Geralt to do what he did that evening, when barely had they pitched camp for the night before he pulled Regis aside. 

Regis obediently put down what he was doing and followed Geralt off into the trees. 

"Well, Geralt?" he asked when they were alone. "What's this about?" 

Having backed himself into this corner, Geralt found himself without any idea what he was going to say. After considering and rejecting a number of possible openings, he gave up. "Would you like to have sex with me?" 

A beat went by while Regis processed the fact that Geralt had, in all seriousness, just said that. Then he beamed. "I thought you'd never ask!" 

Geralt sagged a little with relief. Dandelion had been right, for once—it really was that easy. 

"Though I must say," Regis went on, "your seduction technique could use some work. I've half a mind to suspect you came to me only after no-one else in our little party proved willing." 

What with his recent behaviour, Geralt supposed he deserved that. "You're the first and only person I had any intent to ask. Though Angouleme has still found excuse to let me know she's willing." He shuddered internally. "And I'm beginning to fear that Dandelion might be too—at least as long as, say, Angouleme or Milva was watching. Believe me, I wasn't tempted. That's not what... I mean, not what this is about..." 

Regis, to Geralt's relief, took pity on him at this point and interrupted. " _My_. You have had an interesting few days, I can see. You shall have to tell me all about it," he took a meaningful step forward, " _Later_." 

* * *

Dandelion, it turned out, had been right about quite a few things, though had (in Geralt's opinion) criminally understated a number of others. 

* * *

Some time later, they arrived back at a camp in which everyone seemed to be trying to either catch or avoid Geralt's eye. He briefly wondered how far some of the noises he'd made might have carried, then decided he didn't care. He was in far too good a mood. 

Dandelion raised his eyebrows at him significantly. Geralt winked at him, and shrugged, and was then very distracted when Regis, rejoining the camp behind him, trailed a hand lightly over his shoulder in greeting. 

Dandelion had finished rolling his eyes by the time Geralt looked back again.


End file.
